


Danse Macabre

by fefedove



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, criminal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fefedove/pseuds/fefedove
Summary: Kim Jongin's alias is Kai, but he likes to be known as a "psychopathic serial killer." Xiumin's real name is Minseok, but everyone just calls him "the Emperor's new pet."Kai knew what he was killing for, until he met Kyungsoo. Xiumin didn't know what he was fighting for, until he met Luhan.Two people, so different and yet, the ending is all the same.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is cross-posted from AFF. I wrote this as a high-schooler in 2015 so I'll try to edit it as I post...
> 
> there are two plots happening at the same time that are actually connected
> 
> the prologue is necessary but extra

_The following passage was taken from the online article “The Badass Kim Family.” It was written by user_ byunthebae _and posted on the website “The Dark Side of Seoul- Gangsters, Mafias, and Everything Else.”_

 

Kim is one of the most common surnames in Korea, but there's one family that you probably shouldn't piss off (other than the one in North Korea, that is). It is the most powerful mafia family in Seoul; there are loan sharks, scammers, hackers, money launderers, pimps, drug lords, assassins and serial killers. And that is pretty much all that everyone knows.

 

They are freaking masters on doing their thing and leaving without anyone realizing what happened until much later, when people start wondering what that rotting smell is or when the poor cleaning lady opens the door and sees a corpse staring back at her. They are the most wanted criminals, but the police and NIS have barely any clues as to who they are.

Although, there is a clue, but it's more like a mocking taunt, more than anything else. Many of them (mostly the killers) leave their sign on the bodies of their victims, kind of like an artist signing their painting.

 

Here are some of the information that I've been able to put together. Keep in mind that it's probably not one hundred percent accurate though, because even though I, Byun Baekhyun, am an expert on everything mafia, I can still make mistakes. Also, I don't want some Kim to see this and decide to kill me for figuring out their secrets.

  
  


-Kai

 

He is probably in his early twenties, as his sign and way of killing didn't appear until recently. Either that, or he's a prodigy killer. Both are extremely possible.

Another thing that's extremely possible is that he is a sadistic psychopath. He likes to carve his name into the corpses and dot the “i” with a drop of fresh blood.

 

His victims are really random, going from rich old grandmas to amateur gangsters, but the kills are spaced out in regular intervals and well executed, so they probably aren't as random as they seem. Maybe he has some motive?

 

Most serial killers (well, the ones in the movies that I watch) approach their target, become close with them and gain their trust before going in for the kill, so I wouldn't be surprised if Kai does the same. Which means -- and this can be applied to the other members as well -- he most likely uses some other name as an alias when getting close to his victims. “Kai” is a name that everyone knows and is scared of, and it wouldn't make sense for him to use it on a daily basis. When the friends of the victims are asked, they also don't remember seeing or hearing about any serial killer names. But, of course, no one knows what he actually goes by, except for the victims and they are dead.

 

There's a possibility that he uses his real name or some made up name, but again, no one knows.

  
  


\- chen =)

 

This one is fun. The smiley face in his sign hints that he's also pretty young and has a sense of humor, if not a little twisted. Although, to be fair, he's relatively harmless, seeing as he's a computer hacker and scammer and not a serial killer.

 

But, of course, being a hacker means he knows everything about privacy and leaving no traces, so there's barely any information on him.

 

However, he does work with Kai on many cases; Kai would kill the target, and the next day, the target's bank accounts would be empty. I'm guessing that they split the money and the two are pretty close.

  
  


\- $uho

 

If you can't tell by his sign, he's rich and he fucking knows it. He seems to dabble in everything that has to do with money, mostly as a loan shark and pimp. His infamous prostitute ring isn't too underground, but the government turns a blind eye, probably because he has enough money to give a couple hundred thousand won in bribes. And rich politicians are horny and lusty as hecky.

 

But it's important to note that he's been appearing less these days. I don't know if Kim members want to -- or are even allowed to -- retire, but if they do, that's probably the case.

His prostitute business is still going strong though and he's just an overall mysterious and rich guy.

 

Also, his name may or may not have anything to do with the myth of the Siren Empire. I don't know much about mythology, but after doing some quick research, Suho is an Emperor who kidnapped a bunch of sex slaves. It's pretty fitting and pretty clever, in my opinion. Maybe he's actually a reincarnation. (Wouldn't that be cool?)

  
  


\- Sunshine

 

The last of the more infamous Kim's that I'm going to write about is not actually a Kim. He's also the one I have the most information on.

 

His real name is Oh Sehun and he's 18 years old. And why do I know this? The Oh family was the second most powerful family in Seoul and close to the Kims, since the grandparents (or something) were blood brothers (or something). However, in a well publicized event, the entire family was massacred. For some odd reason, a Yakuza (Japanese mafia) partnered with the Korean police force to crack down on Seoul mafia families. It didn't end well, since the Yakuza turned at the last moment and decided to kill everyone instead of handing them over to the police, because fuck the police.

 

The only one who survived was Oh Sehun, and he also couldn't be arrested due to lack of evidence. At the time, he was only 12 years old, and probably hadn't started doing all the illegal things yet.

 

That has obviously changed since the Kims took him in and, under the name Sunshine, began committing all sorts of dark crimes. He is a killer, much like Kai, but his kills are more methodical and boring, so he probably isn't as crazy and weird. I'm also guessing that he had undergone plastic surgery, unless he transformed significantly through puberty, because his 12 year old face is everywhere but he still hasn't been caught.

 

There are obviously many more Kims, but information is even harder to find for them all. I hope you've all found this helpful. Please leave a comment and like! And if you want, add me as a friend!

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

_The following excerpt was taken from the book “Pain and Power: the Empire of the Sirens” written by renowned historian and psychologist Park Chanyeol. He has also written many other critically acclaimed books._

 

In this introduction chapter, I will discuss how power works in this magical underwater empire, while also explaining how the entire empire works as a whole.

 

First of all, what are Sirens?

 

In Greek mythology, the Sirens are said to be dangerous yet beautiful creatures who lured sailors to shipwreck with their music and voices. According to Walter Copland Perry, “Their song, though irresistibly sweet, was no less sad than sweet, and lapped both body and soul in a fatal lethargy, the forerunner of death and corruption.” Some writers have also noted that Sirens were cannibals, finding pleasure in rotting corpses and rags of skin (Circe). The parallels between these Sirens and the Sirens I will describe later show that it is impossible to be completely made up, as there were barely any communication between the two civilizations at that time.

 

Similar to the Greek Sirens, our Sirens (let's call them the Asian Sirens, for simplicity) lured humans with their beautiful songs and feasted on the most terrible things. However, as we delve further and reveal the inner workings of the Asian Siren Empire, the similarity ends there.

 

In the Siren Empire, there is a complex and almost foolproof process in claiming power. To become the Emperor, one only needs to kill the previous Emperor and have the Heart. That is not as easily done though, as the Heart required is a human heart, given willingly to the Siren, and then ingested through a ritual. This is where we first begin seeing the importance of humans in sustaining the power system.

 

Power -- the power to do magic and guard the Empire against threats -- comes in the form of human tears shed through misery and suffering. This twisted rule is beautiful in that it shows what we all know: that power comes with a price. But no one truly knows why it must be tears nor why it must be human. Some scholars have claimed that human tears, rather than blending in with the ocean water, crystallize and can be collected. Because there is no evidence directly contradicting this claim, it is something I will accept as truth.

 

These crystallized tears are then stored inside urns and presented to the Emperor. There are many different ways for these to be used, as found documented, but the most common is to simply eat them. As slightly aforementioned, the system is foolproof. Only the one who has the Heart can ingest these tears without fatal side effects, and therefore only the Emperor can be the recipient of the power. However, it is important to note that all Sirens have a minimal amount of magic inside of them. It is the source of their immortality and results in a dim halo of light around their body, useful in combating the darkness under the sea. The tears are what amplifies and maximizes the Emperor's power.

 

There have been ancient drawings depicting large urns, beautifully decorated with the symbol of the Emperor Suho: a teardrop with a two circles inscribed, possibly representing the heart and power. There are many stories, songs and drawings about Emperor Suho, which will be discussed in more detail in later chapters. He is the most well known emperor, and may possibly even be the only emperor, seeing as there is no mention of any others.

 

As I research him, more mysteries are revealed. For example, some stories show he had two sons: Prince Yixing and Prince Luhan. This is a curious fact, because who was the mother? And also, Sirens are immortal unless directly killed, and therefore the Emperor would have no need for an heir. Why, then, did he have not one, but two sons? As of now, there are no answers to these questions, but it hints at the many layers of Emperor Suho.

 

He is calm and calculative, but also playful and impulsive. He is the guardian of the Siren Empire but finds pleasure in the physical and psychological torture of human captives.

 

Let us learn more about him in the following chapters.

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it begins

> The Siren's song is irresistible. It takes over, until you're drowning in the song and in the sea.
> 
> - _Pain and Power: the Empire of the_ Sirens by Park Chanyeol

 

 

Minseok's last memory was him by the beach.

 

He lived near the sea, but never felt the need to visit it until today. He distinctly remembered the feeling of the grains of sand that had made their way into his shoes, more and more getting in between his toes as he walked. The little pricks didn't hurt -- they were just annoying enough that he couldn't ignore it.

And then he turned and was walking into the sea. The water moistened the sand and he made wet squelching sounds with every step. The rolling waves filled the imprints his feet left and he felt cut off from land and he found himself surrounded by the deep dark blue. It was as if he was alone in the world, alone with the waves. They lapped at his ankles, then his calves, and when they were at his knees, numbing the joints, he suddenly questioned why he was in the middle of the sea during the winter. He couldn't feel his toes or the annoying bits of sand anymore and he wasn't even sure if he was still moving.

But then the water was at his thighs and the roaring waves thundering in his ears suddenly and unknowingly silenced, muted as a . . . something floated above. It was melodious yet tuneless, wordless yet meaningful; it was beautiful and painted the end of the world, and as the spirit crooned, he found himself wanting to weep.

And then he was crying, the tears rolling down his cheeks and falling silently into the sea that was up to his navel. The ripples reached the shore that he would never see again and he wanted to wonder at the drops that crystallized and froze in the winter air, but he couldn't. He tried to imagine his family, his mother, his friends, his home and the images blurred and wavered in the distance, tauntingly out of reach. He tried to imagine his own face, he tried to do something, _anything_ , but his thoughts were broken and sluggish, strewn across the ocean.

And then the waves were at his chest.

He gasped for breath as the realization hit him with the icy shock. But it was too late because he was too far gone.

He tried gasping again -- he tried breathing -- and the salty seawater entered his nose and began to fill him.

And then he was drowning, the freezing waves batting him effortlessly from side to side as if he was a toy, and the memory flickered and faded. Consciousness escaped him no matter how frantically he chased, slipping through his fingers like the fine grains of sand that were still in his shoes and weighing him down.

The water reached his lungs, forcing out the oxygen and letting numbness seep in.

The water licked at his cheeks, washing away the tears and burning his eyes.

And darkness.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“K . . . a . . . i . . .” Kai muttered as he slowly drew the blade of his pocketknife across the fat nouveau riche's stomach. He paused momentarily, wrinkling his nose when the skin refused to let him draw a straight line for the “i” and ended a little jagged.

“Fuck this,” he said. He leaned over to dab the knife in the open wrist wound, still bleeding, and back to dot the “i” and finally finish his masterpiece.

He stood up and stretched, wiping his hands on his pants, not caring about getting blood all over the expensive designer jeans. To be honest, he had more experience in getting rid of blood stains than girls who hit puberty too early. And anyway, the stains added a nice touch to his overall image.

Satisfied, he surveyed the room with cool content. It was the king suite of a five star hotel and Kai had to admit that the man, though disgustingly oily with a disgusting personality to match, had good taste. The room was everything creamy and soft and being in it made Kai feel fluffy. The walls were some off-white color that managed to look okay, and the shaggy carpet that reminded Kai of honey caramel was even more beautiful with the corpse lying serenely across it. The bedsheets were light gold silk, and so were the curtains that billowed from the air conditioning, letting in rays of warm sunshine.

“Speaking of sunshine . . .” he said out loud. He didn't care that people thought talking to themselves was weird because he enjoyed it when the public called him a psychopath. He really wasn't one, because psychopaths lack the ability to love and he knew how to love. He _killed_ for love. But he liked it when people called him that; it made him chuckle a little inside.

Pulling out his phone -- a Samsung Galaxy too big to be practical -- he called number two on speed dial.

“Hey,” he said cheerfully when the other side picked up. “Jongdae and I are going to Hyo's bar. Wanna come?” He leaned against the wall and absently nudged the corpse with his toe.

“What, to celebrate your most recent success?” Sehun replied. He sounded a little distracted, but it was probably just his obsession with acting disinterested because it made him “cool.”

“Yeah, so you're coming right?”

Kai knelt down to study the golden ring on the victim's finger. It caught the sunshine and flashed obnoxiously into his eye, and he decided to leave it alone.

Sehun made a grunt of agreement. “Just let me finish this job.”

“Oh, you're doing a job right now?” He moved quickly around the room, straightening some things, knocking others over. “Then I guess I shouldn't distract you,” he said with mock seriousness as he wiped down everything he had touched.

The other boy grunted again. “Yeah, stop bothering me.” And the line clicked off.

 

Kai rolled his eyes and called number one on speed dial while stuffing all his trash (gloves, baby wipes, his hotel slippers, that sort of stuff) into a plastic 7-11 bag with the other hand. “Hyung, come pick me up,” he said without letting the other greet him.

“Okay, Nini!” The other's singsong voice sang through the speaker into Kai's ear and he couldn't help but roll his eyes again.

Ending the call, he surveyed the room one last time before opening the door and leaving. The door clicked shut behind him, hiding the corpse -- a surprise gift for the hotel's workers. As Kai stepped into the elevator and watched the numbers turn, he thought of the nouveau riche that had been madly in love with him for the past three months.

 

It really wouldn't be a surprise to anyone that someone as rich, powerful and bad-tempered as Mr. Lee would be the target of an assassin. He had always been angry, impulsive and a little depressed, until that new intern Kim Junmyeon appeared. Because Junmyeon, with his cheerful, bright and obsequious demeanor, really helped Mr. Lee become a better person, but sadly it wasn't enough. For things like this, it would never be enough.

So in a little while -- maybe tonight or maybe early morning the next day -- when the company receives news that their CEO had passed away, no one would be surprised. And no one would think twice when Junmyeon writes a letter of resignment, saying he can't bear to work there anymore. In fact, they might even nod sympathetically and mention him in their funeral speeches.

 

The elevator dinged and Kai stepped out, smirking at the predictability of the mundanes.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jongin, Jongdae, and Sehun

“I still can't believe I have to drive you everywhere. Am I your chauffeur or something? I don't even get paid,” Jongdae complained good-naturedly when Jongin settled into the front seat.

“ _I_ still can't believe Dad would let me kill for my job, but won't let me drive without a license. And he won't let me learn because it's _too complicated_.” The younger pouted and sunk lower into the leather cushion. “What kind of logic is that?”

The nondescript Mercedes pulled out of the hotel's parking lot and onto the busy roads of Seoul, carrying two of the city's most wanted criminals. It was late afternoon -- the time when the sun was about to set, the lights were about to come on, and everyone was ready to have some fun. Which also meant traffic was shit.

“You don't actually kill for your job though,” Jongdae pointed out as he slammed the brakes when the light suddenly turned red. The two lurched forward ungracefully and Jongin made a noise of annoyance. “When was the last time you did what Dad told you to do instead of pushing it onto Sehunnie?”

“He needs practice.”

Jongdae scoffed at the nonchalant answer. He turned to see his brother pouting even harder and was torn between slapping and squishing him. He settled with swearing under his breath at some asshole who honked the horn even though the light was still red.

“And anyway, I do kill,” Jongin continued. “I just like to choose the funner cases.”

“More fun.”

“Yes, mister grammar teacher.”

The older scoffed again. "Who even taught you grammar? Your math teacher?"

"Namjoon was an all around tutor," Jongin replied indignantly.

 

The two brothers settled into comfortable silence until classical music came on the radio and Jongdae reached to switch the station.

“No!” Jongin cried. “Don't you dare change the station. Tchaikovsky is the best!”

Jongdae rolled his eyes and his hand returned to rest atop the steering wheel. “What kind of target are you going to look for now? Someone who would bring you to see ballet performances?” he teased.

“Hyung, don't make fun of me for appreciating all the arts in the world," the younger whined. The driver scoffed in response. “Although, that's not a bad idea,” Jongin mused in afterthought with a smirk.

 

He looked out the window, taking in the beauty that was Seoul as the setting sun basked everyone and everything in a golden wash. There were so many people driving, walking, talking, going about their daily lives, unsuspecting of the dangers lurking under the shining lights. The occasional murders on the news shocked them, but they always recovered and moved on, forgetting about the horror and fear they should feel. Because really, those deaths never had anything to do with them, and when it did, it was too late.

Jongin traced a “K- a- i” on the window, the perspiration on his finger leaving faint streaks that Jongdae would probably not be happy seeing.

There was just so many people living, so many people he could kill.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Hello, my favorite Kim Jongs!” Sehun called. His bleached blonde hair contrasted sharply with the overall dark atmosphere and complimented his pale skin as he made his way over to Jongdae and Jongin at the usual spot in their cousin Hyoyeon's bar.

“Hello, my favorite Vanilla!” Jongin replied, mocking the other's tone.

“Get out of my way, Chocolate,” Sehun demanded, staring pointedly at Jongin's feet which were propped onto the only empty seat and was given a bright smile in response.

When he saw the newcomer narrow his eyes, Jongdae groaned and shoved his brother's long legs onto the ground before anything else could happen. “Sit down, Sehun. And Jongin, stop being such a brat.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Sehun snickered and Jongdae heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god, please.” He was only a couple of years older than the other two, but they were so much less mature that he was forced to act more seriously than he really was when they were together. And being an adult was exhausting.

 

He flashed a smile at the bartender -- a haughty girl who blushed with shyness -- and reached for his drink. “And none for you two,” he said, catching their stares.

“Why do we always meet here if you're the only one who can drink?” Jongin whined.

“And why do we even have to care about the legal drinking age?” Sehun followed.

“I like it here,” the oldest said, shrugging. “But maybe I can bend the rules if you two behave.” He tipped his head back and swallowed the drink, savoring the warmth that traveled down his throat. “But that probably won't happen.”

“I've decided that I don't like you.”

“Good to know, Sehunnie.”

Jongdae pushed a glass of soda over to the boy, who grudgingly accepted it and stabbed a plastic straw in between the ice. “So, how was your job today?”

“Boring,” Sehun answered, straw still in his mouth. “There weren't any people or even any cameras close enough that I had to be careful of.”

“You still have to be careful though,” Jongdae warned.

“Yes, _Mother_ ,” the younger muttered in the same tone as Jongin did before. “But a certain Chocolate called me during my job. Maybe you should yell at him.”

 

Jongdae turned to the other boy, but not to scold him. He would do that later when he was in the right mood. “Jongin, do you want me to h-” he began, but the focus of the conversation was staring intently off into the distance. “Jongin!”

The boy in question absently put a hand up in the general vicinity of Jongdae's face. “Shh . . . do you think that guy over there would bring me on ballet dates?”

Jongdae followed Jongin's eyes, while Sehun did the same with less curiosity. He scanned the room until he saw a man sitting quietly by himself, a bottle of cheap alcohol next to him. “I'm not really sure. Maybe?” Jongdae said. “But what about the cases Dad wants you to take?”

“Sehun can take them.”

“Excuse me, I want a social life too!” said boy quickly protested.

“Maybe when you're as skilled and rebellious as me,” Jongin replied distractedly. “But seriously! Do I look like a Junmyeon right now?”

Jongdae groaned and turned to eye Jongin. “Have I ever told you how weird it is for you to use that name as your alias?”

“Probably a couple hundred times,” Jongin said, shrugging. “But I don't really get why.”

“Maybe because that's the name of hyung's dead boyfriend?” Sehun supplied. “Dumbass Chocolate,” he muttered under his breath.

Jongdae could feel a hell of a headache coming soon and maybe some bruised knuckles if he couldn't restrain himself from punching his two companions. “Sehun, thank you but please shut up and no swearing. Jongin, why don't you stop staring at the guy and go talk to him. And me and Sehun are going to leave.” He let it all out in one breath and swiftly grabbed his newly refilled glass as soon as he finished.

“It's 'Sehun and I',” Jongin corrected pointedly, probably remembering the minor grammar lesson on the car ride. He was an expert at holding grudges, anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“But okay. And remember to do your thing with Lee's bank account, 'kay?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

 

Jongdae was the least willing member of the family to do illegal things, but it was more in spite due to his inability to do much of anything that required coordination rather than his morals, ethics or pure heart. But as he watched his brother -- his only truly blood-related brother -- walk over to the stranger with a light bounce in his steps, he couldn't help but question how _right_ it was for an eighteen year old to be so happy about killing. How _right_ it was for someone who couldn't drink and didn't even have a driver's license to know thousands of ways to make murder seem like an accident. And the fact that Jongin's motive was to take revenge for Junmyeon's death just confused everything that much more.

“Sehun,” he mused out loud as the pair walked out of the dark bar and into the night life of Seoul. The stars in the sky paled in contrast to the dazzling lights everywhere, but he could still faintly see some well-known ones. There was the Sirius, and over there was the Polaris. That star was supposed to give direction, but he was sure everyone was still just as lost. “Do you think it's normal for you and Jongin to be so good at killing people?”

“What's your definition of normal?”

They chuckled and Jongdae stared up into the stars.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i give up on editing. i need to preserve my fetus writing lol


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok wakes up in a watery hell

“Hey.”

Kyungsoo looked up to see a handsome man leaning against the wall and smiling down at him. The newcomer was clad in a crisp white v-neck shirt and expensive-looking designer jeans. He saw some dark blotches smeared all over the jeans and wondered vaguely at them. “Hi?” he said, slightly confused but not really.

The man seemed to take the greeting as an invitation to sit down and he settled comfortably into the seat next to Kyungsoo. “Can I sit here?”

Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. “If I say no, would you leave now?”

He was given a cheeky smile. “I like you,” the other said. “And I'm Junmyeon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

Kyungsoo poked at his bottle of soju as Junmyeon gaped at him. “You're not going to tell me your name?” he asked, shock apparent on his face.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? I'm a really interesting person, and according to everyone I talk to, I have an amazing personality. You won't regret becoming my friend.” Two dark eyes peered hopefully at him.

 

Kyungsoo didn't answer. He resorted to staring at the table, studying the patterns of chipped paint, as he tried to decide how to react to this arrogant and handsome man. “Okay.” He sighed and looked up into a pair of curious eyes. They sparkled in the dim environment, catching the light hanging above them. “I'm Kyungsoo.”

Junmyeon immediately brightened, his mouth stretching into a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo!”

“Now tell me just how interesting and amazing you are.” The words slipped out of Kyungsoo before he realized, and he was _kind_ of proud at how flirty they were. He was usually a serious, quiet and resigned person, but maybe he had surrendered to the effects of the alcohol. That, or something else.

“Well,” Junmyeon said, sounding as if he was preparing for a big speech. “I'm pretty rich, so I think that should be a plus . . .” He trailed off and wrinkled his nose. “I'm really not this stuck-up usually, I swear. I don't know why I'm like this today.” He glanced at Kyungsoo and the corners of his lips quirked up. “Maybe I want just wanna impress you.”

Kyungsoo laughed the kind of laugh that was more like exhaling loudly through his nose. “There are billions of 'pretty rich' people in this world.”

“I wouldn't say billions!” the man protested.

“And I'm not a materialistic person.” Junmyeon pouted and Kyungsoo wondered how old he was.

“Umm . . . I'm really good at sexy twerking dances, but I've also taken ballet lessons for a while," Junmyeon tried again desperately.

“I like singing more.”

“Oh.”

Junmyeon sunk into the seat with a defeated look and Kyungsoo almost felt worried. “So why did you come over here?” he decided to ask, clearing away the silence that had temporarily settled.

The man who had a penchant for pouting rested his head on one hand and bit his lip. “You were getting drunk by yourself and I was sitting by myself, so . . .”

Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. “You were with friends though.”

Junmyeon's eyes widened, almost comically large (which meant it was almost as large as Kyungsoo's). Closing his mouth which had also dropped open, he said, “But they left.”

“You're really not coming off as interesting and amazing right now.”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon agreed with a heavy sigh. “But can I still have your number?” he asked with the trace of a pout ghosting his lips.

Although Junmyeon seemed like an awkward and inexperienced teenager who failed miserably at flirting, Kyungsoo felt something tugging at his heart.

 

And Junmyeon left that night with a new contact saved in his phone under the name “Ballet Boy.”

 

And Jongin walked out into the night feeling free and lighthearted, already imagining another name to put at the end of his forever-growing list.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Darkness.

Silence.

Alive.

 

Minseok woke up disoriented.

 

He was certain he had died -- he had drowned -- he could remember the salt and the pain and the cold and the spots in his vision when he couldn't breathe and the song.

The song.

He shuddered at the memory of the eerie music that had taken him over completely and if he tried, he could still hear it -- faintly, tauntingly and beautiful. His slight movement sent ripples through the water and he froze. He really hadn't felt the silky smooth water against his skin until he had moved, and it was unsettling. He was still wearing the clothes from before and they felt dry. Was this Hell? He had died, hadn't he? Was he a ghost then?

Sitting upright, he realized he had been lying down before and through the murkiness, he could see the stone slab beneath him. Slowly, cautiously, he stood up and walked -- floated? waded? -- to the one source of light that seemed so far away and found himself in a cage.

Placing his hands on a bar, he relished the feeling of something solid in his fingers. This was real. But a cage? Was he really in an underwater cage?

 

Suddenly, he heard a dry chuckle behind him. His hands fell away from the bar quickly, afraid he would be caught committing a forbidden crime. Turning around, he squinted in the darkness. He felt so alone, so blind and the darkness was weighing down on him, surrounding him, crushing him. And there was someone in the shadows, laughing at him.

“Can you really not see me?” the voice asked, amused.

“N- no- no?” Minseok stammered. His voice was rough from disuse and he didn't have time to wonder why the salty seawater wasn't going into his mouth, why he wasn't choking and drowning all over again. “Where are you?” he asked the emptiness. “Where am I?”

“You're in Hell.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Minseok was sitting on the stone slab again, the coldness seeping into his body. He could faintly make out his companion. The stranger's face was half-hidden, but he could see the dull glow of gold and a silhouette with sharp edges that cut through the heavy shadows. There was a cheekbone, long lashes, the jawline, a collar.

“Do you like myths?” The still nameless voice was deep and rich, but sounded so impossibly empty. There was an undercurrent of broken flatness lying beneath and Minseok wondered if this was the end result of the cage.

“No.”

“Well, good. Because people think that this place is a myth, but it isn't. This place -- everything's real, whether you want it to be or not.” There was the sound of shuffling and the water moved. “Yes, you are alive. Yes, you are in a cage underwater. Yes, this cage is inside the Siren Emperor's palace. So yes, you are now a captive and it might be better to die, but they would never let you.”

 

“H- what- how- what's your name?” Minseok finally managed to say.

Clipped laughter made its way over to him. “I told you all that and this is what you ask?”

Minseok nodded, then realized it probably wasn't visible in the dark. “Yes,” he replied quietly. His mind was still numb and he couldn't comprehend nor process anything the man had just said.

It was silent for a moment and Minseok thought that maybe he had imagined it all. Maybe if he was crazy, he could go to sleep, wake up and be in the bed of an asylum. At least it would make more sense.

 

“You can call me . . . Yifan.”

“Yifan.” Minseok echoed dumbly.

“That's n-”

 

Footsteps sounded, approaching the cage and Yifan immediately broke off mid-sentence. Silence settled and the heavy footsteps matched Minseok's pounding heart. For some reason, it was the sound of impending doom. This was the end, he was sure.

“When they come and get you,” Yifan murmured, “Don't fight. Don't resist. It's easier to surrender before it starts.”

 

And after the key clanged against the cage bars, after the door swung open soundlessly and effortlessly, Minseok sat unmoving, wondering what was it that he shouldn't fight against. And when a figure walked in and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him unceremoniously out of the cage; when he spotted faint gills and scales on the figure's hand, he wondered how he could ever fight.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: implied non-con

> There are many ways to make a human cry, but some give the torturer more pleasure.
> 
> - _About Our Deep Abyss_ by Park Chanyeol

 

 

The palace was beautiful -- that much could be said. But the more Minseok gawked, the more disconcerting it became. There was a drastic difference from the cages (he could see many, too many, of them) placed in organized rows in the middle of nowhere, to the splendor that was the main palace. The opulence was everywhere --gold, silver, pearls, jade, tapestries and murals flaunted in every corner that they turned. But while a palace of this richness on land would perhaps be bright and warm, this one was the exact opposite. Lanterns of strange material embedded into the walls sent light flickering and dancing, but they were swallowed by the seawater. The lavish decorations couldn't fill the emptiness of the halls and it was as if he was walking through the ruins of an ancient, dead city.

As they turned, the guard roughly pushing Minseok to the side, he caught a glimpse of a sacrificial ritual depicted on a floor-to-ceiling painting. The emotions on the figures' faces were drawn with such detail that he could see the pain etched into their features. The blood pouring out of one's chest and the heart that seemed to be still beating sent a chill down his spine.

He was glad when the guard shoved his head down and Minseok contented himself with staring at the smooth floor as they walked on.

Until he was led into a vast room and forced onto his knees. The floor loomed in front of his face as he fell into the submissive position. He grit his teeth as he remembered Yifan's words. _Do not resist_.

“My most revered Emperor Suho, sovereign of all,” the guard said. “I have brought the newest captive.”

“Very well.” Minseok shivered involuntarily at the new voice- at the coldness, at the eeriness. It was hypnotic and entrancing and Minseok remembered the song that had led him here.

There was the ruffling of fabric, the gentle rippling of water and the faintest thrum of magic as the Emperor rose from his throne and floated towards Minseok. He felt the guard's iron fingers let go of his neck and he yearned to look up, but felt petrified. And maybe he really was petrified.

 

“Now, now. Let us see what we have here.”

A cool hand reached under his chin and, with slight pressure, tilted Minseok's head up. He kept his eyes cast downward until he heard, “Look up, my pet.”

He obeyed without hesitation and was met with a . . . human face. He didn't know what he was expecting, but after seeing all the otherworldliness, this humanity was surprising. It was familiar, but unsettling. The Emperor's eyes that held his were dark brown, warm and soft, but the light flickered and they were bottomless, murky and spoke of years of horror. Minseok blinked rapidly, wanting to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but his eyes wouldn't move.

The Emperor laughed, cold and melodic. “Don't be afraid. We've just met.” Patting Minseok's head, he straightened and reached out a hand.

 

A servant clad in dark blue robes that blended into the ocean appeared out of nowhere. Head bowed, she offered a mahogany box. Minseok stared as the Emperor opened the box and took out a golden collar inlaid with jade.

“This one, my dear,” the Emperor said, as if speaking to a child, “is for you.”

As he reached for Minseok's chin once again, Minseok held his breath and finally closed his eyes. He felt the heavy weight settle on his neck, sitting awkwardly against his collarbone.

“Beautiful, handsome and complemented by the jade,” the Emperor declared as his eyes raked his new pet. “Xiumin will be a perfect name.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The Emperor walked away with a flourish of his robe and another servant led Xiumin to follow him. As they walked across the vast room, just as decorative and just as empty as the halls, he tried to make sense of what was going to happen. He was a captive, he was a pet, he was Xiumin. He had no clue who Xiumin was -- how he was supposed to act and why he even existed. Waking up after he had drowned and everything else that had followed was just so absurd. He didn't yet know what Yifan had warned him against but his blissful confusion ended soon.

 

After he crossed the threshold into a private chamber, the servant disappeared once again and Xiumin was left alone with the Emperor. The Emperor who turned and eyed him like a hungry wolf, the glint in his eye matching the flash of his teeth as he smiled.

Xiumin felt his limbs turning to ice and he was flipped onto the bed and their faces were too close, too close.

“This is just the first test,” the Emperor breathed out. Water rippled, tickling at Xiumin's nose and lifting his clothing and he couldn't look away. “Let us see how you are.”

The Emperor lowered himself, a finger lightly tracing Xiumin's cheekbone, jaw line, neck, down his chest, and down and down, mapping his nakedness and never breaking eye contact. Xiumin felt anger and hate bubbling deep inside, fighting to break free but the numbness in his mind was a thick unyielding blanket of magic. And he let himself be entered and destroyed, torn apart from inside out.

 

_Do not resist._

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Jongin almost always had a headache when he was at home. In addition to his own nuclear family, he also lived with two of his aunts and their families; one had nine year old twins, the other had four kids ranging from two to sixteen. And one of the four was currently being led across the room from Jongin, tears rolling down as nonsensical words spilled from his mouth.

Jongin put down his phone (he was trying to figure out how to start a conversation with Ballet Boy). “What's wrong with him?” he asked his cousin Hyuna, who was following her mother and brother.

The girl shrugged before joining him on the couch and lazily turning on the T.V. The news anchorwoman began reciting facts about a recent car accident and both Kims tuned her out. “You know how he has a crush on that something-Geng?”

“Uh . . . am I supposed to?”

“That's all he talks about!” Hyuna exclaimed, staring at her cousin in disbelief.

Jongin made a face at the sixteen-year old. “I have a lot of things on my mind, okay?”

“Like how to get laid,” Hyuna muttered while changing the channel, landing on the angsty scene of a melodrama. Ignoring Jongin's protests about how he could get laid without even thinking about it, she continued, “Well, Heechul has apparently been hiding in a tree to stalk his crush and today, he fell out, scraped his knee and embarrassed himself. And then the other kid's mom threatened to call the police, so Heechul ran away. He thinks he's going to be forever alone now.”

“He hid in a tree?”

“Yeah.”

“He's going to be a good spy or something someday.”

“Kim Jongin!” Hyuna cried, slapping him in the arm. “He's five. What if he decides that he wants to be a kpop idol? Not everyone is so crazy about this life. And anyway, he fell out, so he can't be that good at it.”

Jongin made another face before standing up. “Okay, freedom of choice, whatever. But just know that he's going to be a lot cooler than you.”

“Do you kill people by annoying them to death?”

“Call me when dinner's ready,” he said without turning around as he left the living room for the peace of his own bedroom.

“Yah, Kim Jongin!”

 

Upon entering his room, he closed the shades, dimmed the lights and turned on his favorite song. As the crooning ballad filled the room, he sprawled onto his bed, making himself comfy. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took in the romantic feel he had just created before turning on his phone.

“Ballet Boy . . .” he murmured to the empty text message history. “How should we do this?”

He rubbed his finger absently across the phone screen, scraping at the dried blood that had somehow gotten onto it. He was probably getting too relaxed and careless for his own good, but who was Kai without a little dumb recklessness? That and his skill and his morbid desire (he liked to call it an “intrinsic motivation”) was what made him so good at what he did. One of the most wanted criminals at age eighteen? You couldn't do that without taking some risks.

If he was an average teenager, he would probably be one of those wannabe badasses who do stupid things "for the vine" and scream "YOLO" before everything.

 

He propped himself up onto his elbows and began typing away.

 

_Hey, do you want to meet up sometime? I still have to prove to you how interesting I am._

 

His thumb hovered over the “send” button as he reread his short message and hoped that it would work. If not, he would be losing his charm. Pressing the green button, he fell back onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sad lyrics of the song, he smiled, feeling accomplished.

_And this is how it will begin._

_YOLO_

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“You're back,” Yifan noted when Xiumin was once again locked inside the cage. “Can I ask for your name now?”

“Xiumin,” he answered flatly as he slumped onto the stone slab. It was so much more comforting than the Emperor's cushioned bed and he wished he could just lie on it forever. “What are these people?” he demanded as the numbness in his mind finally cracked and the anger began flowing out in trickles and rivulets.

“Monsters. Beautiful fish-things on the outside, but on the inside, they're probably rotting,” Yifan spat with smoldering intensity.

Xiumin pulled his knees to his chest. “Explain. P-please explain! Why am I here? Why me?! Why-” he choked off as a storm of emotions suddenly crashed down on him.

“Don't cry,” the mysterious man warned. “They feed off your tears, so don't waste them. And that's the answer to your question. And it's so funny that how human they seem determine their status. If you have a fish tail, then you're probably a slave. If you only have some gills, then you're a guard. Have you seen any of that on the damn Emperor? No! But they see _us_ as scum -- trash that conveniently makes them more powerful. You're here because they need humans to torture and gain power from. Crying is such a shameful thing. 'Real men don't cry.' That's what they all said, but here? They'll make you see things, they'll make you feel things that make you rather be in Hell.” He paused and Xiumin tried to process the information. It couldn't be real.

“They're probably going to get rid of me soon,” Yifan continued, speaking more to himself than to Xiumin. “I've been wrung dry. I have no tears left. In the beginning, I cried because of confusion, because I missed my family and everything I had known -- my life before. Then I cried for my freedom, innocence, naivety. And then out of fear, misery, bitterness, anger and hatred. And now I'm just a useless shell. Empty. There's nothing left. Nothing can make me cry.”

“Nothing?”

“Except love.”

 

His voice was a ghost of a whisper and when he suddenly began singing, Xiumin shivered at the heavy nostalgia, so full of lost hope and promises.

 

_“I can hear your voice, I can hear you in my mind. I think of the familiar streets and I think of the fading memories. And in this empty street, the silent embraces, love is quietly burning.”_

 

What was love? Making love, forcing love, feeling love, falling in love . . . they all made no difference- there _was_ no difference. He wouldn't find love here in this watery hell and even if he did, what of it? Would he be free of this hell?

It would just be something to be used against him, something to help his captors gain power.

 

_“There is a place that you and I know. That I know, only we know.”_

 

He didn't care about love. It was just something created in fairytales so that dreamers could have something to hold on to. He wished this was only a dream, a nightmare to wake up from.

And maybe it would be better if he could go back to being numb and unfeeling, but as he closed his eyes, tired fury boiled in his blood.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Xiumin returned to find the cage empty, he vowed that he would never shed a tear.


End file.
